4herforever

[4herforever]

nevertheless

I screamed in the darkness for someone to come back.

But the forest is empty.

It was always just me.

[4herforever]

I was watching my daughter nurse earlier and her face was pure bliss. It made me tear up instantly. This kind of love is so intense that I’m almost immediately taken to the thought of my death... That one day I’ll be gone and she’ll be here without me.

And then I think about how much time I’ve wasted on toxic relationships, secretly searching for her in every relationship. I worry all the time that she’ll grow into someone who doesn’t respect me or see me. She’s my one true love and if all the love I poured into the wrong places was just rehearsal for her… then what? Was it all a joke?

The pain of that feels cosmic. Like it stretches across space and time. The universe is miraculous… what are the chances that I’d even be here, or that she would be here? Or that you’d even be here to read this? (thanks btw.) And yet existence feels unbearable when you’re stuck navigating other people’s cruelty, insecurities, and stupid made-up rules.

I don’t know how to tie all these thoughts together. I just know I love my daughter across every timeline, every version of this life, every corner of the universe.

She is my reason.

[4herforever]

The first copy of this piece just found its home!!

Thank you so much for the support!! 🌲⚔️

If you’re interested in more, please take a moment to look around my shop or drop a favorite. The heart helps me and my daughter more than you know!! 💟

https://4herforever.etsy.com

🌲 The Forest & The War 🌲

There was a time when the chimps went mad. They clawed and tore at each other for years, not knowing why, only that something inside them said fight. Jane Goodall watched in horror, thinking the peace she once believed in was a dream. And then, one day, the war ended. As suddenly as it began, it was over. The forest grew quiet again.

Humans are no different. We too forget ourselves. We build concrete cages, plastic oceans, and invisible borders. We fight neighbors instead of asking who planted the fight in our hands. We forget that our fear is new, that our cruelty is not destiny but invention.

But there are some of us, scattered through the trees, who will not let the forgetting win. We carve messages into the bark: Yes, the eyes are evil. Yes, it is scary out here. But this way, the air feels lighter.

We are not here to save the whole forest. We are here to leave signs for the ones still wandering, so when they stumble through the darkness, they will see: the war is not forever. We can stop. We can remember each other again.

[4herforever]

Motherhood is not a soft-focus filter.

It’s blood on the pads, milk on the shirt, tears at 3AM, and the sharp ache of realizing no one is coming to rescue you.

But it’s also the way your baby looks at you like you are the whole world.

It’s brutal and holy at the same time. And the world doesn’t prepare us for that.

[4herforever]

🌲 The Forest & The War 🌲

There was a time when the chimps went mad. They clawed and tore at each other for years, not knowing why, only that something inside them said fight. Jane Goodall watched in horror, thinking the peace she once believed in was a dream. And then, one day, the war ended. As suddenly as it began, it was over. The forest grew quiet again.

Humans are no different. We too forget ourselves. We build concrete cages, plastic oceans, and invisible borders. We fight neighbors instead of asking who planted the fight in our hands. We forget that our fear is new, that our cruelty is not destiny but invention.

But there are some of us, scattered through the trees, who will not let the forgetting win. We carve messages into the bark: Yes, the eyes are evil. Yes, it is scary out here. But this way, the air feels lighter.

We are not here to save the whole forest. We are here to leave signs for the ones still wandering, so when they stumble through the darkness, they will see: the war is not forever. We can stop. We can remember each other again.

[4herforever]

✨disney✨ is my culture and that’s kind of horrifying

I’ve been watching movies like Coco and Encanto, and I started wondering something that hit harder than I expected:

Why do I — as a white woman in America — feel like I have no real culture?

No traditions. No sacred rhythms passed down. I don’t even know anyone past my great- great-grandmother, and I barely know anything about her. There’s no lineage in my hands. Just a vague sense of being American, and that’s… nothing. That’s Walmart and McDonald’s points and $900 a pill and losing my Medicaid while the president builds a ballroom.

Then I look at these Disney movies — filled with grief rituals, family altars, magical houses tied to memory, and I ache. Because I never got that. And it makes me realize:

Disney has been the only consistent thing speaking emotional truths to me my whole life.

And also?

It’s a megacorporation.

Built to keep me consuming.

It teaches me to cry, to believe in something bigger, to love my family;

but also to buy.

To keep scrolling.

To go to Disney World and call it a core family pilgrimage.

And lately I’ve been playing Dreamlight Valley, and my boyfriend was playing Kingdom Hearts, and I wanted to re-download Toontown of all things — because those are the only spaces that ever felt like magic.

Not family dinners.

Not church pews.

Not old stories told around a fire.

Just… digital Disney.

Fantasy as inheritance.

A carefully designed nostalgia machine as my mythological anchor.

I guess what I’m saying is:

I’m 32 and grieving the culture I never had.

And Disney, weirdly enough, is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a tradition.

Which is both beautiful… and terrifying.

[4herforever]

✨disney✨ is my culture and that’s kind of horrifying

I’ve been watching movies like Coco and Encanto, and I started wondering something that hit harder than I expected:

Why do I — as a white woman in America — feel like I have no real culture?

No traditions. No sacred rhythms passed down. I don’t even know anyone past my great- great-grandmother, and I barely know anything about her. There’s no lineage in my hands. Just a vague sense of being American, and that’s… nothing. That’s Walmart and McDonald’s points and $900 a pill and losing my Medicaid while the president builds a ballroom.

Then I look at these Disney movies — filled with grief rituals, family altars, magical houses tied to memory, and I ache. Because I never got that. And it makes me realize:

Disney has been the only consistent thing speaking emotional truths to me my whole life.

And also?

It’s a megacorporation.

Built to keep me consuming.

It teaches me to cry, to believe in something bigger, to love my family;

but also to buy.

To keep scrolling.

To go to Disney World and call it a core family pilgrimage.

And lately I’ve been playing Dreamlight Valley, and my boyfriend was playing Kingdom Hearts, and I wanted to re-download Toontown of all things — because those are the only spaces that ever felt like magic.

Not family dinners.

Not church pews.

Not old stories told around a fire.

Just… digital Disney.

Fantasy as inheritance.

A carefully designed nostalgia machine as my mythological anchor.

I guess what I’m saying is:

I’m 32 and grieving the culture I never had.

And Disney, weirdly enough, is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a tradition.

Which is both beautiful… and terrifying.

[4herforever]

there are some things that don’t show up on a baby registry.

like someone who will hold your hand through the unraveling rebirth and cracking.

like a hot meal when you’re leaking and starving.

like pads and nipple cream and a kind voice that doesn’t ask for ANYTHING in return.

i don’t have a title or any credentials yet.

i’m not a nurse. i’m not a guru.

i’m a woman and a mother who bled and wept and got up anyway.

and i am building something from the ache i was left with and the ache i can imagine other women have felt.

~ postpartum kits.

~ tea and witch hazel and prayers and affirmations.

- help with laundry or groceries or sitting beside you while you cry or holding the baby so you can shower.

~ soul-level companionship for the most sacred transition on earth.

i don’t want to fix you.

i want to witness you.

i want to bring beauty into the mess and warmth into the silence.

🛒 check out my Etsy where you can find prints like the one below ⬇️

📌 check out my instagram where you can see me document this journey with more visuals and less words 🤣

all @4herforever

[4herforever]

seriously though 😭

I’m glad I’m only un poco loco.

I wasn’t prepared for: The Good Dinosaur 🦕

Lately I’ve been watching Disney and Pixar movies with my daughter, which has been so exciting and fun. Before? I barely watched movies or went out of my way to see the new kids movies. Because honestly? Why would I? I didn’t think they deserved my attention in my early twenties.

But, these movies? These movies have teeth and they are not afraid to bite.

I wasn’t prepared for The Good Dinosaur. I had never heard anything about this one. Nobody talks about it, which is criminal. I gave it a chance because my daughter laughed at the info screen. It starts out like a nature documentary for gentle souls, then BAM!!! Here’s your father, dead in a landslide, looking you in the eyes with his last breath like, “I love you, son.” Pixar had absolutely no right or reason to animate that .2 second shot of Poppa looking at Arlo. I knew it was coming, too, as soon as I saw the landslide. I sobbed instantaneously.

Then there’s Coco, and I’m sorry, but that one hurts.

The music, the memory, the way Miguel’s family tries to “protect” him while suffocating his spirit, it’s all TOO familiar.

And the ending? When the great-grandmother finally remembers because of one tiny spark of song? That was incredible and touched my spirit.

It made me think about how scared I am to leave my daughter alone in this life. It reminded me of how I do everything for her to remember me and have a piece of me for when I’m gone. I’ve watched this movie three times now and every time Mama Coco walks away as an old lady skeleton with her family, I look at my daughter and tell her that will be us someday because I will always, always be there with her.

Throughout all lives in all timelines.

I’ve always been raw.

But I’m cracked open with salt on the wound because I’m a mom now.

Because I’ve felt like the forgotten girl, the silenced child, the one who wasn’t supposed to have a voice.

These stories are reminding me what it means to belong to someone. And how deep the ache runs when that belonging is interrupted. So I have to do everything to use my voice like Arlo and roar when needed, even when I’m scared. Create art like Miguel, even if my family doesn’t understand me.

I have to do it.

For her, forever.

[4herforever]

I used to dream about music festivals and road trips with my friends. I thought if I could just make enough money and keep up, I’d finally feel like I belonged among them.

These days?

I just want someone to text me, “Let’s go to the zoo” or “Waffle House with the gorls?” while our babies fling snacks and we sit on a bench being deeply weird and honest about how hard this season really is.

We’re taking my daughter to see Lenny Pearce later this year.

I’ll probably be too shy to say anything to anyone.

But I’ll be praying that God places something for us there.

Even if it’s just toddler techno, baby giggles, and the way my daughter smiles and holds my finger like I’m the whole world.

I don’t need a big group.

I just want to be seen.

And maybe meet one soft, strange mom who’s been waiting to say, “Me too.”

Until then, I’ll dance with my daughter and try to remember that I’m already living the real dream. Just in a different rhythm.

[4herforever]

I wasn’t prepared for: The Good Dinosaur 🦕

Lately I’ve been watching Disney and Pixar movies with my daughter, which has been so exciting and fun. Before? I barely watched movies or went out of my way to see the new kids movies. Because honestly? Why would I? I didn’t think they deserved my attention in my early twenties.

But, these movies? These movies have teeth and they are not afraid to bite.

I wasn’t prepared for The Good Dinosaur. I had never heard anything about this one. Nobody talks about it, which is criminal. I gave it a chance because my daughter laughed at the info screen. It starts out like a nature documentary for gentle souls, then BAM!!! Here’s your father, dead in a landslide, looking you in the eyes with his last breath like, “I love you, son.” Pixar had absolutely no right or reason to animate that .2 second shot of Poppa looking at Arlo. I knew it was coming, too, as soon as I saw the landslide. I sobbed instantaneously.

Then there’s Coco, and I’m sorry, but that one hurts.

The music, the memory, the way Miguel’s family tries to “protect” him while suffocating his spirit, it’s all TOO familiar.

And the ending? When the great-grandmother finally remembers because of one tiny spark of song? That was incredible and touched my spirit.

It made me think about how scared I am to leave my daughter alone in this life. It reminded me of how I do everything for her to remember me and have a piece of me for when I’m gone. I’ve watched this movie three times now and every time Mama Coco walks away as an old lady skeleton with her family, I look at my daughter and tell her that will be us someday because I will always, always be there with her.

Throughout all lives in all timelines.

I’ve always been raw.

But I’m cracked open with salt on the wound because I’m a mom now.

Because I’ve felt like the forgotten girl, the silenced child, the one who wasn’t supposed to have a voice.

These stories are reminding me what it means to belong to someone. And how deep the ache runs when that belonging is interrupted. So I have to do everything to use my voice like Arlo and roar when needed, even when I’m scared. Create art like Miguel, even if my family doesn’t understand me.

I have to do it.

For her, forever.

[4herforever]

Sometimes I just stare at her while we’re laying down for naptime.

I exclusively breastfeed on demand and she’s been sleeping beside me her whole life pretty much. Tucked against me, safe and snug.

I know not everyone is into cosleeping, and that’s okay.

But I needed my baby close.

And more importantly, she needed me.

I know that in my bone marrow.

Now, at 11 months old, she presses her feet into my thighs or my belly while she drifts to sleep, using me as the original pacifier.

But she’s been pressing into me like this since before she was born…. when we shared a body.

Every night, I’d roll over and she’d wake up with tiny feet of fury. Heels pressing into my palms.

Her feet would poke through my side like something out of Alien, and it was terrifying and beautiful and sacred.

Still is.

I keep her grounded

and maybe that’s one of the most important things I’ve ever done.

If you connect with writing like this, I’m slowly turning these moments into art and digital prints over at my Etsy shop — 4HerForever. It’s all for her, but maybe a little bit for you too.💟

🛒 etsy.com/shop/4HerForever 🛒

[4herforever]

I Never Really Stopped

I think I’ve been chasing the same dream for over two decades throughout different mediums.

In 2011, I thought it would look like selling handmade hair pins or dressing up on YouTube. When I was a kid, I made crosses out of wood scraps in my grandma’s shop and tried to sell them for $2. That version of me was serious about it and sought customers.

I streamed on Twitch once. Made $174. Felt like the richest girl in the world.

I lived in a converted shed. No stove. Just a camp eye and a tiny oven. I was so proud of my washer!! the kind you put outside and hang your clothes to dry. It felt honest. Like peace was possible.

I used to dream of having a camper. That was over ten years ago. The idea came from my ex’s mom when she bought a camper and it stuck. My friend had one too, and I used to wonder what it’d be like if we lived near each other in tiny homes with big love.

Even when I played Sims, I was playing her, the woman I wanted to be. A mother, barefoot in a garden. Someone who wrote for a living and didn’t owe anyone her soul.

I don’t do any of those things now.

But I also… never really stopped.

The dream shape-shifted. It showed up in poems, in Etsy listings, in whispers to God when the house was too loud and I felt like I was disappearing.

I still want the camper. The little house. The slow, sacred life with my daughter. I still want to grow tomatoes and hang clothes to dry and know I got there because I never gave up on myself.

I used to feel silly for wanting so little.

But now I know… it’s everything.

If anything in this reflection resonated with you, you can explore my work or support my dream here:

✨ 4HerForever on Etsy

[4herforever]

I Never Really Stopped

I think I’ve been chasing the same dream for over two decades throughout different mediums.

In 2011, I thought it would look like selling handmade hair pins or dressing up on YouTube. When I was a kid, I made crosses out of wood scraps in my grandma’s shop and tried to sell them for $2. That version of me was serious about it and sought customers.

I streamed on Twitch once. Made $174. Felt like the richest girl in the world.

I lived in a converted shed. No stove. Just a camp eye and a tiny oven. I was so proud of my washer!! the kind you put outside and hang your clothes to dry. It felt honest. Like peace was possible.

I used to dream of having a camper. That was over ten years ago. The idea came from my ex’s mom when she bought a camper and it stuck. My friend had one too, and I used to wonder what it’d be like if we lived near each other in tiny homes with big love.

Even when I played Sims, I was playing her, the woman I wanted to be. A mother, barefoot in a garden. Someone who wrote for a living and didn’t owe anyone her soul.

I don’t do any of those things now.

But I also… never really stopped.

The dream shape-shifted. It showed up in poems, in Etsy listings, in whispers to God when the house was too loud and I felt like I was disappearing.

I still want the camper. The little house. The slow, sacred life with my daughter. I still want to grow tomatoes and hang clothes to dry and know I got there because I never gave up on myself.

I used to feel silly for wanting so little.

But now I know… it’s everything.

If anything in this reflection resonated with you, you can explore my work or support my dream here:

✨ 4HerForever on Etsy

[4herforever]

🌊🕊️ Go Deeper for the Glory is now live in my 4HerForever shop ✨

For the ones paddling.

For the ones called to the depths.

This poem poured out of me in one sitting. I didn’t plan it, it just came. At a time that I realised I had a deeper calling and that it’s all for her, forever!

And now this poem lives on, ready for someone else who might need the reminder to keep going even when it seems like the odds are against you.

💟

✨what if

the shallows become too deep?

and you cannot stand on your feet?

will you turn around and try to retreat?

or will you go deeper for the glory?

persevering and paddling with fists of fury?

wondering why it took so long to see beneath.

have you always been a blind sheep?

sometimes things are exactly as they seem.

there’s a time and place to be redeemed.

to finally see things crystal clear.

to discover what is truly near and dear.

not many are able to come to the depths.

in fact, loads find themselves exempt.✨

💟

This listing comes in A4 and 8x10 formats, and includes a bonus prayer file.

There’s also a text-free version in the shop if you want to layer your own words, journal-style.

🛒 Buy them together and get 20% off or catch the 4th of July sale (25% off everything) until July 6th at midnight!

💜 @4HerForever

[4herforever]

[4herforever]

Not everything gets easier with time. But I have changed.

I am softer in the right places. Stronger in the right places.

More present. More rooted. More aware.

Becoming her mother didn’t just awaken me it realigned me with God.

With who I was always becoming.

With the little girl I used to be.

With who I’m going to be for her.

This walk of healing, of praying, of breaking cycles. It is sacred. It is holy.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

✝️ “She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come.” — Proverbs 31:25

📍 Shop 25% off through July 6th @ 4HerForever

🎆 Tap the link in bio to explore the collection